Living in a field isn't a normal response

I remember when I was 19 I got chucked  out of home. It had been a very difficult time for me, lots of issues at the university that I'll save for another time. I'd been given an ultimatum, either get a job to support myself or go back to somewhere I hated. I was already at breaking point, I couldn't cope with the thought of a job and I couldn't handle going back so I took what I thought was there only rational option, I chose homelessness.

It wasn't made that much easier by the fact I only had ~£100 in the bank. I remember leaving home with nothing but my wallet and the clothes I was wearing and having exactly no idea what to do. Who could I talk to? Could I talk to anyone? If I talked ot anyone I would have to explain what was going on but I didn't know how to do that, I didn't know myself. So I was trapped with indecision, I couldn't tell anyone, they'd no I was a loser an I could explain myself, I couldn't stay at home, I had nowhere to go and not enough money to waste on a hotel. So, I walked up to the fields near my grandparents, and spent the night sleeping next to a dry stone wall. It got cold. Very, very cold. I was lucky it was April so it could've been worse but it was still border line unbearable. I remember my penis had shrivelled to this size of a walnut. I remember contemplating pissing myself to keep myself warm. What would I do if I needed a poo? All sorts of questions. That night was one of the longest of my life as i sat cold, dark and alone against that dry stone wall. 

A smarter person would've gone into town and at least been able to find some warmth. A normal person might even have talked to someone. Not me. I choose to sleep in a field in the middle of nowhere. The next day I made the long walk into Ashton. I knew I couldn't do that again, something had to give. So I bought a tent and a sleeping bag and set it up in the same field. At least I was moderately warm that night, I had a newspaper, a torch, a box (Why I got a box and not a bag is beyond me) and was inside. It was fortunate as I think it rained a little that evening. It wasn't perfect but it was a bit better. I was preparing to bed in but got chased off by a farmer in the morning. Apparently you can't just sleep in a field on the side of a hill. It was a bit of a blow. So I swallowed the last remaining bit of self-respect i had and phoned home.

I was dirty, hungry and cold when I met my mum. She then spent 30 minutes shouting at me and saying 'oh I thought you'd stay a Peters' no alarm or care that I spent it in a field, not when they can just fuck me off again to go to a place I hate. Turns out when every option is destroyingly shit you just lose a bit of yourself. If I'd been able to just stay at someones I wouldn't have gone back to Birmingham would I? If I could talk to people I wouldn't've been in the situation that I was. I realised on this day that I was totally alone in the world.